Prada and Prejudice

Chapter 34

When Mindy opens the door, pop music assaults my senses. I wish it were classical. I wish it were like the band at the dance.

I wish I could dance with Alex again, silly little do-si-dos and dips and spins.

Mindy waves me in and returns to the chair near the mirrored closet door, where she's busy pinning her hair up in a dozen little twists. It's half done, but it looks cute already.

And somehow I'm not jealous.

Summer is sitting on the bed, strapping on some black stilettos. "Hey."

"Hi."

I toss my stuff down on the empty bed behind her and then stand there, wondering what I should do. The bathroom door is closed, so it's not like I can change.

"I did my makeup in that mirror. You can slide my stuff over if you want," Summer says, pointing to the little desk in the corner. Those two sentences are more words than she spoke to me our entire freshman year. I wonder if it's because Angela isn't in the room.

"Thanks." I walk over and plunk down on the chair and lean over. I look a little tired. Technically, I did stay up until nearly dawn yesterday. Or would it be this morning?

I'm only halfway through with my makeup when Angela strolls out of the bathroom in a miniskirt and backless top.

"Wow," Mindy says. I wonder if it's the same wow I was thinking. As in, Wow, skanky much? I decide not to ask.

"Oh. Hey." Angela looks at me like I'm a maid, come to fluff her pillows.

"Hi." I prop my foot up on the chair and lean in again, toward the mirror, to apply another layer of mascara. It's already a little clumpy, but I'd rather look busy than have to talk to Angela. Why do I let her do this to me? How can one second of standing in the same room reduce me to feeling completely unworthy?

"Nice knockoffs," Angela says as she descends upon the bed and pulls her legs up, even though her skirt rides up. I can see her hot-pink underwear.

I stand up and stare straight at her. "Are you talking about my shoes?"

"Yeah. Get 'em off a street vendor or something?"

I open my mouth to tell her that no, I did not, and I have the receipt to prove it, but then I stop. Does it really matter anymore? Do I even want her to like me? She's about as fake as the girls who follow Alex around. They drool over wealth and titles and popularity. And the second you have any of that, they're your new best friends. But they'll never, not in a million years, be real friends. Not like Alex and Emily.

I'm done with her. I'm done with caring about her. I'm done with letting her make me feel inferior.

"Something like that," I say, and turn back to the mirror.

I don't need her anymore. And it feels good to finally realize that.

An hour and a half later our televisions are set on low, our beds are stuffed with pillow people, and we're slipping out of a cab in front of the club. My heart pounds with adrenaline.

But I'm not scared. All the rules and etiquette and the insane social ladder of 1815 showed me I can survive anything.

Even if I'm not Rebecca anymore. It's a little like slipping off a protective mask, and I feel a bit exposed.

I tug my tank top down a little to shield the last inch of bare skin from the night breeze, and follow the three girls down an alley. This feels decidedly uncool, to be traipsing through mud puddles and squeezing past overflowing dumpsters, but whatev. It'll keep my mind off Alex.

Alex. God, I wish I could have brought him with me. Put him in a pair of jeans.

I need to stop thinking of him. Stat. It makes my chest ache.

Once we're behind the building, the sound of a heavy base beat intensifies. It's practically rattling the street. An unlabeled side door swings open and a head pokes out. I take him to be the guy who is supposed to be getting us in, because Angela rushes over and hugs him. He's got short shaven hair, a la Justin Timberlake, and he's wearing a black T-shirt that hugs his bulging muscles. He steps aside and holds the door open for us, and then I follow the girls inside and try not to blush as he nods at me when I walk past.

It's dark, except when the lights strobe and illuminate the floor filled with dancing people. A heavy beat reverberates in my chest and makes my lungs rattle.

I follow closely behind Mindy, afraid I'll lose her if I so much as look around. We make our way through throngs of people and away from the floor, toward a mixture of eclectic seats and asymmetrical couches. Angela climbs a few steps until we're on a balcony halfway between the floor and ceiling, not up an entire story but not exactly on the main level either. It reminds me of the terrace where the band played at the Pommeroy Ball.

I don't realize until I sit down that the boy from the door has followed us, and he's got three other guys with him. I stare down at the table and pick up a paper coaster like it's the most interesting thing in the world, because suddenly the self-consciousness is coming back full force.

And then it actually becomes the most interesting thing in the world. A single word is embossed in fancy calligraphy letters. A single word that makes it feel like the whole room is spinning.

Harksbury. What in God's name?

"What is this?" I point at it and shout in Mindy's ear.

She scrunches her eyebrows. "A coaster?"

I groan. "No, I mean, the name. Harksbury."

"Oh. It's the name of the club. I don't know what it means, though."

I do. It's the name of a dukedom. I wonder if that means some relative of Alex's invested in this place or something. Or if someone borrowed their name. Or what. But it has to mean Harksbury is real, that it existed. I stare down at the word again. If the shoes weren't enough... It has to be real. And seeing it like this reminds me of how I felt there. How it felt to be Rebecca.

I tuck the coaster into my back pocket and try to ignore the stare Angela is giving me. She probably thinks I'm totally nuts, stealing a paper coaster. But it's the closest I'll get to a souvenir of my time-bending trip. And having it on me makes me feel stronger, somehow, like I can always be that girl at the ball.

I look up when the boys file in and sit down on a bright orange couch shaped like a slug. "Ladies. This is Grant, Tim, and Alex," door-boy says. He doesn't even introduce himself. I guess I'm supposed to know who he is.

I smile at Grant and nod at Tim, but when I get to Alex, I only stare.

Alex. The Alex.

No, no it can't be. His hair is shorter, his skin smooth and shaven. He's got on a green button-up, left open at the collar, which brings out the intense emerald shade of his eyes.

There's something different. The contour of his lips, the line of his nose. It's almost him, but not quite.

And he's staring back at me. Does he know who I am? No, that's silly. It's not really him. Not Alex Thorton-Hawke, the Duke of Harkshury. Just Alex, the twenty-first-century guy standing in front of me. In a nightclub. In real life.

Mindy jabs me with her elbow. "This is—"

"Callie," I say, standing and reaching my hand out. "My name is Callie."

It feels so good to say that. To be me. I grin involuntarily at the realization.

He smiles and shakes it. "Hey."

For a second neither of us says anything else. We just keep shaking hands and staring at each other. My heart hammers out of control. I feel sweaty already.

But it's adrenaline. Excitement. I'm not terrified anymore. Not of Angela, not of Alex. I can do this.

"Do you want to dance?" I ask. Did I really just say that out loud? That couldn't have been me. That was someone else.

"Huh?" He can't hear me over the music.

"Do you want to dance?" I say, louder this time, with a little more conviction. For emphasis, I nod my head toward the floor. I'm really doing this.

"Yeah." I'm not sure I've heard him correctly, but then he grabs my hand and leads me away, and I risk a glance back at the group.

They're just staring. For once in my life, I've upstaged them. I grin back and then turn my attention to Alex. I've thought about getting close to him for a month.

I'm about to get my chance.